Pumpkin Beer Chili

So… what actually makes chili chili?

I started thinking about this while making this recipe because at some point I looked into the pot and thought… is this technically chili or did I just make pumpkin soup with beans?

And apparently the soup vs. chili line is a little blurry.

For me, chili should be thick, hearty, bean-y, smoky, and something you can pile toppings onto. Soup has more broth. That’s my completely unofficial classification system and I’m sticking with it.

So this is chili.

But here’s the thing—I make this recipe differently almost every time.

If you want it more brothy, add more bone broth and suddenly we’re getting into pumpkin chili soup territory. Fine by me.

Have zucchini sitting in the refrigerator that needs to be used? Throw it in. Sweet potato? Absolutely. More corn? Go for it. No poblanos? Use a green bell pepper. Hate kidney beans? Use another can of black beans.

I’ve made it with ground beef. I’ve made it with chicken. I’ve made it without either, which is how I’ve written the recipe here because with three kinds of beans, it honestly doesn’t need meat.

I usually use my homemade chicken bone broth because I roast a chicken pretty much every week and there’s almost always broth in my freezer. But vegetable broth works just as well and makes the chili vegan. Beef broth? Sure. Use what you have.

It can be a side. It can be dinner. Add beef or chicken if you want something even heartier. Eat it with cornbread. Put Greek yogurt and cheese all over it. Scoop it up with tortilla chips.

There are very few ways to mess this up.

And then there’s the pumpkin beer.

Could you use regular beer?

Of course.

But it’s pumpkin chili and it’s fall, so if I see pumpkin beer at the store, we’re committing to the bit.

It adds this malty little something in the background that works so well with the pumpkin, smoky chipotle, poblanos and fire-roasted tomatoes. It doesn’t make the chili taste like beer, and it definitely doesn’t make it taste like pumpkin pie. It just makes everything a little deeper and more interesting.

And yes, you can leave the beer out too. Add more broth. Dinner will survive.

Fall… allegedly.

This is also one of those recipes that makes me desperately want to be in New England.

I want the windows open. I want leaves changing outside. I want to wear an unnecessarily large sweater while this simmers on the stove. I want pumpkins on the porch and that first genuinely cold night where making a giant pot of chili feels like the only reasonable dinner option.

Instead, I live in Florida.

So every September we collectively start playing make-believe fall while it’s approximately 94 degrees outside and there are palm trees everywhere.

I light a candle. I turn the AC down. I make pumpkin chili. I pretend not to notice that stepping outside feels like opening the dishwasher halfway through the dry cycle.

We’re doing our best.

And honestly, this chili helps.

Maybe someday I’ll be making it in New England while actual orange leaves are falling outside my kitchen window.

Until then: pumpkin beer, aggressive air conditioning, and pure delusion.